Drip
by W0lverine111
Summary: "Drip… Drip… Drip..." Alone and angry, Sherlock is thrown into a mysterious case with no clues or ideas to help solve it. He is out of his depth and is forced to call for back up. Together, can they solve the case or will it be too late?
1. Blood

Drip… Drip… Drip...

The sound of heavy liquid hitting rusted metal echoed through the derelict mansion which sat dejectedly on the steep corner of the Street. The darkness which seemed to linger in the night desperately clung to the ruin, looming above the stream which slowly gathered. What made the stream this time most certainly wasn't water.

Although it was an icy evening, no sole drop of rain littered neither the road nor the pavement. At first glance, all may have looked ordinary but through the eyes of Sherlock Holmes who happened to be passing in a sleek black cab, nothing was as it first appeared.

"Stop the cab!" he demanded as he dove out of the iconic car into the gloomy night. The loud hum of the engine continued to plague the neighbours as Sherlock crouched by the dust covered bricks and examined the ground which lay before him. Filth lay thick along the gravel which led up to the neglected house. The sickly smell of fresh blood hung moist in the air like condensation on a cold window early on a dark Monday morning. With one swift movement, Sherlock dove into his elegant murky grey coat and drew out a flat modern magnifying glass with the name of a smart German brand carved into the black plastic. He opened the case to reveal a pristine curved glass piece which he then used to inspect the land beneath him. It was then he first saw the lake of dark red. Without any though, Sherlock pulled out his case-less IPhone and called a private number that belonged to a man who he would never admit he trusted.

"Lestrade, found something in your division…"

 **A/N - So, what do you think? Reviews appreciated.**

 **I am going to try and update this story every week!**


	2. Lestrade

Sirens wailing. Officers running. Children terrified.

Sherlock anticipating.

Whilst several officers hung the tape declaring the authority of the force of justice, Sherlock hid a mocking smile. Gracefully, he drew out an empty plastic bottle and tilted his wrist so the brim of the tube was submerged beneath the liquid. Smoothly, it flowed into the container and with the greatest of care was slowly lifted. Sealing it with a chunky red lid which seemed to be the same shade as the fluid inside. A single drop of blood trickled down the vial and shattered as is collided with the bare ground.

As Lestrade approached, Sherlock stood, ready to great the inspector who he had grown to depend on greatly in the last few months. Lestrade always came whenever Sherlock would require his help although he would never say it out loud. A sense of trust passed between the two men as they looked into each other's eyes, measuring the depth of the situation they faced.

"So… What are we looking at here?" the inspector asked cautiously as if not really wanting to know the truth. He seemed scared and unwilling to try and make his life harder or more dangerous than before even if one of his best friends was a sociopath who loved risks and solving crimes.

"Blood…" he replied with a hint of sarcasm entering his resonant voice. Humour was just another word for stupidity or pointing out the obvious and Sherlock felt it was one of those rare times the only way he could avoid a long painful rant was to insert wit into his dialogue. After seeing the disapproving look on the detectives face he realised maybe it wasn't the best time and he mentally noted down never to do it again.

"I need some equipment: safety gear, a camera and I need a lab at St Barths to test these blood samples and whatever else we might find…" Sherlock simply stated with a hollow, empty voice as if trying to withdraw all emotion and love from his voice. It seemed he was hiding something, sadness and sorrow…

Lestrade sighed in triumph as he pulled out a sleek curved mobile out of his long grey jacket.

"And Sherlock, thanks for calling me..." Sherlock let a sad smile fall upon his face for a brief moment before turning away to hide his long full regret. Pity illuminated Lestrade's face as he solemnly walked away. Sherlock had been through so much trauma, misery seemed to dominate his life. First Mary, then John… Maybe it was all too much…

 **A/N - Should I continue this?**

 **Reviews appreciated!**


	3. Anderson

Sirens wailed like toddlers being stolen from their parent's firm grasp. All tranquilly that had been present only minutes before had been hidden beneath the constant noise and chaos which seemed to control the area. In a flurry of haste the officers selected and Sherlock suited up. Blue plastic overalls and singed yellow safety hats were passed round the cluster of a dozen tall men ready to do their jobs. After several last safety checks of communicators, cameras and an assortment of forensic equipment, the squad which consisted of selfless men and women, was ready for the tedious mission which lay ahead of them.

"Jan will lead Team two, Tony Team three and Sherlock you'll be in charge of team one." Lestrade explained, introducing each leader first to each other, then the rest of their team.

"Stay with your group and collect as much evidence as you can! You leave in two minutes!" he shouted, his command spoken with such a sense of confidence and authority, only Sherlock dared to complain.

"I work better alone. Other people just slow me down." He insisted as he followed Lestrade to a car filled with equipment.

"That's not an option Sherlock. God knows what's in there…"

"But-"

"End of discussion Sherlock." Sighing heavily to show his displeasure, Sherlock walked back over to his team leaving an astounded Lestrade behind him. He had won an argument with Sherlock. He remembered the days where his sharp tongue and quick wit would have convinced anyone to do what he said in mere moments (or made them want to strangle him). But now, those days were long gone and his spirit was broken.

"Sherlock?" a high pitched voice seemed to squeal. After a moment, Sherlock sighed in frustration and spun round to confront his forensics 'partner'.

"Anderson…" he replied with no enthusiasm or kindness. Eyes darting left and right Sherlock examined the specimen which stood before him. New glasses bought two weeks ago with a wrong prescription from the way he squints his eyes; Had a shower earlier today from the slight damp spot on his collar and his body language implying he wanted to go somewhere else but felt the great need to talk. Typical Anderson…

"Are you okay Sherlock?" Anderson questioned like a good friend would if he was truly concerned. He tried to read Sherlock but couldn't as his expression was as hard as stone.

"You do your job, I do mine. Don't get in my way!" he declared trailing off into darkness. Anderson turned to face Lestrade and shook his head. Sherlock was lost to them and his heart had blackened.

Two minutes later, it began. Their torches flickered in the hazy night as if trying to show the way to a brighter day. As one, they began to tread into the unknown dirt and misery which lay in front of them, consumed by darkness, hidden in a clouded veil of grime and desperation

"Shall we?"

 **A/N - Please review and follow!**


	4. Insanity

They began to explore the wreck which the outline of a house was loosely formed. Glass lay shattered along the ragged floor obstructing the path they had initially planned to take as around thirty officers eagerly awaited their return. Only the protection of sturdy steel capped boots kept the sharp shrapnel from carving there feet into oozing blood and pain. With one swift sign from Sherlock, they split into three groups; two with four men, and the main, with five men and woman from the police force.

A few countless minutes of nonstop searching passed before the first transmission of confirmation was sent. "Nothing over here!" A strong female voice boomed as every communicator let the same message pour out from its hazy speakers.

"Copy that," Sherlock and another detective replied slightly out of sync but yet together.

"Keep searching, Team one and I will advance, Team Two check our area and team three keep looking for now." Sherlock said with a sense of alert in his voice.

Drip… Drip… Drip…

The sound loomed closer and closer as each endless moment gradually passed. Pungent odours filled the air as sweat began to roll down Sherlock's face. Never before had he felt so insecure, so vulnerable and helpless to his own insignificant fear.

A doorframe which lay blocked by bare planks lay among the brittle bricks was covered in thick, black dust. Rotted ivy had tried to climb up the textured surface before running out of light and subsequently wilting until only the spiralling stalk was left, cold and bare. Sherlock kicked the oak wood with such force it splintered. He slid through the narrow gap, his group trailing not far behind.

What met their eyes was both gory and gruesome. It was like a child's darkest nightmare but on a much more extreme level. A single corpse lay draped over a steel chair. Blood oozed out of the crack in down his misshapen skull which slowly flooded out like a blocked tap. Under the chair lay a metal panel which would have once been used as part of a bath. One of the most disturbing part of the image was the way the poor man's eyes seemed to sit outside of the usually sockets but easily the worst fragment of the situation was how he smiled. A forced smile. Such a deadly grin of horror and despair. Insanity.

 **A/N - Please Review!**


	5. Evidence

Gleaming lights which lit up the Metropolitan police logo on a murky black board confirmed that Greg or his standard issue police satnav had chosen the correct location. A sleek orange, yellow and blue Vauxhall Astra dived into the marked parking lot in a hurry as the clock ticked on. The door was ferociously slammed shut as the panicked gentleman in dark blue padded police uniform ran into the vast illuminated glass skyscraper. After bolting up three flights of stairs and running along a twisting corridor, Lestrade charged into one of the labs panting wildly.

"You're late Lestrade!" Sherlock declared arrogantly, not even bothering to turn around to greet his friend. From the sound of his heavy footsteps, it was obviously Lestrade and so Sherlock felt no need to aknowledge that further. Why would he need to?

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that. You can't just run away from a crime scene you know Sherlock: that's the criminal's job. I have a responsibility to sort out the force!" He almost yelled in frustration. Sherlock gave him a disapproving look and then turned back to the lab desk he was originally working at.

"Fortunately for us, there are those of us who don't have your priorities and can actually get to doing what's important!" he snapped viciously. He sighed before apologising for his behaviour. His pair of specialised lab goggles and long white coat protected him and his clothing from the chemicals he was using on the samples of blood and dust which lay before him in several sterile dishes.

"Got anything yet?" Lestrade persisted.

Silence. Sherlock fingers continued to dance over the table top as he picked up an acetate sheet and held it up to the light. Pausing for a few moments, he leant down to a computer to type in his results.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm…"

"Are you even listening to me?"

"No not really."

"Sherlock!"

"Of course I've found something… But you're not going to like it very much…"

 **A/N- More?**

 **Will update next week.**


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